


More Than a Fairytale, Stranger Than Fiction

by LilicaDearest



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2park, 2park are panicked gays, 2parkweek, 2parkweekday3, M/M, Mutual Pining, a two-shot bc i cannot for the life of me condense my stories into acceptable one-shots, actor woojin, and woojin is just clueless in general, but has no idea, in which jihoon loves and hates woojin at the same time, it gets frustrating, screenwriter jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilicaDearest/pseuds/LilicaDearest
Summary: Park Jihoon is an up-and-coming screenwriting talent, the genius behind some of Korea’s highest-rated dramas on primetime television. But because he writes under the pseudonym "Park Tokki", nobody (save for himself and his agent) knows that the famous screenwriter is him. As far as everyone else is concerned, Park Jihoon is an ordinary teenager.But things take a troublesome turn when he is cast, by a strange twist of fate, to play a supporting role in his own work, a modern fairytale Cinderella story entitled I Promise You. What’s a guy like him to do, especially when he’s meant to star alongside his least favorite person on earth… top star Park Woojin, his former best friend and his very first love?





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for 2 Park Week day 3! I couldn't fit the entire thing into a one-shot, so I'll publish Part 2 next week. Thank goodness 2 Park Week's been extended! Thanks to the mods for saving my hide <3 
> 
> P.S. YES, I know user LilicaDearest royally SUCKS at finishing stories, but this is why I'm no longer attempting a story with several chapters in it. I'm just not patient enough for that. I GET IT NOW (and no worries, someone will whoop my ass if this doesn't get a Part 2. IT WILL HAPPEN!) But thanks to everyone still supportive of me! I love you, and your encouragement means the world to me T^T

**ACT 1. Behind Every Masterpiece Is Its Maestro**

 

“Has the issue boiled over?” Jihoon asks, tapping harriedly at the desk in front of him, one jittery fingertip after the next. He eyes the monitor, distraught, refreshing the Naver homepage at fifteen second intervals.

“They’ve taken the article down,” his agent assures him. “See for yourself.”

Jihoon heaves in a nervous breath. He does as he’s told, pupils shaking involuntarily. The screen goes blank for a discomfiting instant, before the Naver homepage greets him for what is perhaps the thousandth time over the past couple hours.

The jarring headline is no longer there.

He exhales, clasping both hands together in utter relief. They quaver slightly, the electricity from his shock over the news still dancing in hysteria throughout his system.

The words are on autoplay in his head: _Park Tokki’s Identity Exposed,_ and he comes to the staunch realization that, despite having his agent around to iron the confusion out, he won’t get rid of the anxiety it’s caused him altogether.

“You need not fret over the little details,” his agent says. “I’ll handle this issue. Focus your energy on the script instead. We have deadlines to meet, you know. This scandal’s a hitch in the road, but the show must go on.”

“You’re right,” Jihoon mumbles, half-lost in a faraway daze. “Thanks. Not sure what I’d do without you. _Seriously._ ”

This morning, news broke out that he’d been found out.

And the only thing Jihoon can stand even less than writer’s block is privacy infringement.

Thank god these dimwits were wrong about his identity, nevermind that he’d almost gone into cardiac arrest over the unfortunate headline so early in the morning.

And why wouldn’t they? Park Tokki was the superstar of the entertainment industry, the virtuoso behind a series of award-winning films taking the nation over by storm. Park Jihoon, on the other hand, was your run-of-the-mill film major, the embodiment of mediocrity both in skill and academic performance, the quintessential “nobody”. Who’d ever think these two people, antithetical to each other, were in fact the _exact_ same person?

“That vacuous stare of yours tells me you’re going through an inner monologue at the moment,” his agent observes. “Care to spill?”

“Not particularly,” Jihoon shrugs. “I just…”

He trails off, pressing a finger to his temple. The beating of his heart re-accelerates, brows furrowing in irritation as is symptomatic of post-traumatic stress.

“Why’d the media _ever_ begin to think,” he complains. “That Park Tokki’s some sleazy-ass movie director whose greatest work was an abhorrent piece of _shit_ critically panned by the very film experts who kiss my ass day long? Which, if I may add, would never have gotten attention if Director Jung didn’t get caught fucking around with the lead actor _. Literally._ ”

“Why indeed,” his agent laughs, impervious to Jihoon’s bursts of outrage. “Apparently, Director Jung’s a fan of yours. She’s made claims to Park Tokki’s identity before, and she’s come out with fabricated evidence of the rough drafts to your earlier screenplays. She says the reason she sleeps around with other men is… to provide, shall I say, sparks of _inspiration_ for the next jewel to hit the screen.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jihoon whines. “You don’t have to be humping someone for you to write about it. Isn’t that what the imagination is for? And if by some miracle, you’ve been sucked dry of originality, you can always turn to—”

“Don’t say the p-word.”

“Porn.”

His agent grimaces, and Jihoon flashes him a triumphant smile in return. “You’re way too young to understand, Lai Kuanlin.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh _sure,”_ Jihoon snickers.

“Ugh,” Kuanlin scowls. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine,” Jihoon laughs. “But why’d the media buy into _that_ excuse _?_ Surely they don’t think that’s solid enough evidence to prove that Director Jung is Park Tokki herself. Because she isn't.  _I am._ _”_

_And nobody ever has to know._

“Who can blame them,” Kuanlin smiles. “When it’s their job to pick at the scraps you’ve been feeding them.”

He strolls over to where Jihoon is seated, pulling up the empty chair beside him. He settles down comfortably, one leg perched above the other, both hands clamped firmly against one knee.

“I hope you know I can’t be doing this forever,” he whispers solemnly.

Jihoon turns away, a paltry attempt at building the wall between them, brick by boring brick.

“And I hope you know that I fully expect you to,” he replies. “That’s the only reason why I’ve let you into my life, you know. For you to carry my existence to your grave.”

“Let’s not get depressing here,” Kuanlin sighs. “What exactly are you so deathly afraid of? Why not let the world know of Park Jihoon’s talent?”

“The world already knows of Park Jihoon’s talent. It just doesn’t know of _Park Jihoon_. And I intend to keep things that way. Why, you ask?”

Jihoon stares out the window, squinting upwards at the sun penetrating blindingly through the glass.

_Because if I were to shine this bright, then I’d burst into flames and collapse into ashes._

“I guess some of us just aren’t meant for fame. Not because we don’t _want_ it, but because we can’t stand the repercussions. As in all things, you’d have to pay the price. And if my private life is the currency… then I’d rather not make the transaction, thank you very much.”

Kuanlin stares him down a moment too long. Jihoon fidgets awkwardly, chafed by Kuanlin’s heavy gaze.

“You sure you aren’t keeping less savory secrets from me?” Kuanlin interrogates. “That’s all there is to it?”

Panic surges briefly through him, alarm flashing instantaneously through his inscrutable countenance.

 _I’m sorry, Kuanlin-ah,_ Jihoon thinks. _But if by chance you’d find me out, I’d run the risk of losing you, too._

He retreats further into himself, shoring up his defenses.  

“Yeah,” Jihoon smiles. “That’s all there is to it.”

Kuanlin rises to his feet, sighing audibly in defeat. “I give up,” he declares. “Suit yourself, Park Jihoon.”

He straightens out his immaculate overcoat, affectionately tousling Jihoon’s mop of unruly hair. “Though I’ll have you know, you’re about as useless a liar as you are brilliant an author. Funny how you write more sincerity into your characters than you practice yourself. Learn from them, once in a while. Might help you out.”

Jihoon swats at him impatiently, flustered by the accusation. “I’m the protagonist pre-character development. Deal with it.”

Kuanlin chuckles, both hands disappearing into the depths of his gargantuan coat-pockets. “At least you’re self-aware. That’s a step in the right direction.”

Kuanlin’s phone vibrates from within his right pocket, interrupting the playful exchange.

“Excuse me a moment,” he says, fishing out the raucous device. Jihoon can’t help but laugh at the fact that he’s set the OST for _Nothing Without You_ as his ringtone (which, for reminiscence’ sake, was the very first drama they’d worked on together).

“Hello?” Kuanlin speaks into the phone. “Is everything alright?”

He pauses momentarily. “Is that so? He hasn’t mentioned it, no.”

He meets Jihoon’s fervent gaze, piquing his ardent curiosity. “Understood. I’ll let him know.”

“Who was that?” Jihoon inquires. “Were they asking about me?”

“At this point,” Kuanlin says. “I’m no longer sure which ‘you’ it is you’re referring to.”

“I meant _Park Tokki,_ ” Jihoon clarifies. “Obviously. Has anything exciting ever happened to me outside of Park Tokki’s exploits?”

Kuanlin shrugs, as if in challenge. “You tell me.” He reinserts the phone into his pocket, eyes narrowing into slits. “It’s not about Park Tokki. It’s about Park Jihoon’s sister. You hear from her, lately?”

Jihoon blinks, taken aback. “My sister? What’s _she_ gotten into?”

“A cold. A nasty one, too.”

“What does that have to do with me? She didn’t… call you just to let me know she’s sick, did she?”

“No.”

“Then... did she call to let _you_ know? Are you dating my _sister?”_

“I’d much rather shit a brick than date your sister, Jihoon. But... yes, she did call to let me know. I _am_ her agent too, after all.”

“Okay, but... is that a no to the first question?”

“It’s a _hell no,_ and please. Don’t you dare even _think_ I’d date her again. She’s insufferable _._ I  understand why you avoid her, to a fault. You aren’t even aware of the fact that she’s been cast in the drama you’re writing for.”

For a moment, Jihoon isn’t sure he’s heard Kuanlin properly.

And then it dawns on him. Hard.

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Chill out,” Kuanlin exclaims. “What’s gotten into _you_?”

“You don’t understand,” Jihoon wails. “This is next-level _outrageous._ My sister, playing a character _I_ wrote? When she’s spent half her life convincing my parents that I’d be the laughingstock of the family, for thinking I’d make a comfortable enough living writing screenplays? Tell me the universe isn’t playing Russian roulette with my fate right now, and doing a whack job of it, too.”

“It gets worse,” Kuanlin adds. “She bailed on filming today, and the director’s furious. They’ve been careful not to disappoint her onscreen partner, too, since he’s so goddamn important in this industry. And so far... she’s done a less-than-stellar job.”

“Tell me about it,” Jihoon grumbles, reaching for the bottle of water he’d left on his desk. “On second thought… don’t. Otherwise, I may end up pulling my own hair out.”

He unscrews the cap, lifting the bottle to his lips. The lukewarm temperature is enough to soothe his parched throat, but he needs more than just a drink to allay the reprehension bubbling within him. “Here’s to hoping that whoever it is she’s starring alongside… he’s come armed with a lifetime supply of inner peace. Otherwise he might as well quit.”

“You’re that clueless, huh?” Kuanlin clucks in disappointment. “You don’t even know that _I Promise You’s_ cast is star-studded enough for Snoop Dogg to string into a necklace and wear around his neck?”

“I… I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“What I mean,” Kuanlin says. “Is that it’s filled to the brim with big-shots. Led at the helm by the brightest star in the industry. I’m sure you’ve heard of him? Park Woojin.”

Jihoon very nearly chokes on his bottled water.

“That’s…” he begins, shell-shocked. “That’s not true.”

“I’d lie to you if it paid the bills,” Kuanlin replies. “But I’m afraid it won’t, so I’d much rather tell you the truth.”

Kuanlin’s candor notwithstanding, Jihoon still can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Or refuses to, pretense aside.

The reality is that he never used to care about the actors and actresses, and neither does he care to reserve the rights to creative control over hand-picking them himself. He’d much rather negotiate a fatter paycheck anyway, as he understands that casting rights are very much coveted by the producers due to their ramifications on quality, and interfering with this process can mean only one thing: he’d have to let them know who he is.

And he’d rather shit a _pile_ of bricks than allow that to happen.

“But why Park Woojin, of all people?” he says to himself.

_My detestable sister, and my former best-friend. The leads in a story I’ve written._

_Based on myself._

_And my former best-friend._

_FUCK._

“Why, indeed,” Kuanlin says, looking obnoxiously entertained by Jihoon’s bout of delirium. “Although I’m sure you know it was bound to happen at some point. You write the best-quality flicks, and should Park Woojin’s track record be any indication, he’d do the best-quality job of bringing your works to life. No surprise there.”

The unspoken question hangs ripe in the air.

_But why pretend as if you’ve never seen it coming?_

“I didn’t see it coming,” Jihoon argues, more to convince himself than to get his point across. “I swear it.”

“Why’s it this big a deal to you, anyway?” Kuanlin presses on. “It sounds almost as if… you know him, from way back when. Park Woojin.”

“I don’t,” Jihoon lies. “I’ve never met him.”

_Or at the very least, not the way he is now._

_Lightyears ahead, a million miles out of reach._

_A star in his own right._

This time his phone buzzes awake, diverting his attention from the spontaneous trip down memory lane. He stares at the screen, and lights up immediately.

“You’ve got mail,” Kuanlin observes. “Still keeping in touch with that Daegu Pigeon?”

“It’s _Busan Sparrow,_ Jihoon corrects. “And yes. I still do.”

He swipes at his phone eagerly, navigating his way through to the email inbox, empty save for the letters of correspondence he’s kept with _Busan Sparrow_ for the past five years. The thread they’d kept going hearkened back to the very first anonymous “fan mail” he’d received from him, back when Jihoon published his works as an amateur. _Busan Sparrow_ had been in his life then, supportive of him before he’d even gotten his first taste of fame.

In many ways it felt as if he’d kept Jihoon company, at his highest of highs, and his lowest of lows.

And Jihoon had done much the same for him.

_He was there when Park Woojin walked voluntarily out of my life, to chase after a dream he’d reached a long time ago. And now that he’s about to re-enter my life without even knowing it…_

_Please,_ he thinks. _Tell me what to do._

He reads through the letter haltingly, as if to savour the comfort every last word permits him.

 

 

_My Dearest Park Tokki,_

 

_How’ve you been? My apologies for responding far too late for any excuse to be appropriate. That being said, today’s pathetic excuse is that I’ve been busy, as per usual. Working, of course. The industry I’m in is cutthroat, and I feel as though I’m about to succumb to the pressure society’s laid upon my shoulders._

_I think these people forget I’m human, too. That I have feelings of my own._

_But when your life revolves around deception, it’s far too easy to forget who you are, and what you’re here for. What you believe in, and whose opinions of you are important. You get caught up in expectations you’ll never live up to. Because they all think you’re perfect, when in fact… you’re a mess._

_You agree, don’t you? You tell me that sometimes, it feels as though you’re hiding behind a mask. Afraid that one day, your veil will tear apart, all your shortcomings laid bare, your imperfections brought to light for others to condemn, to belittle, to criticize._

_My only hope is that one day, you’ll find the courage enough to show me what lies beneath. And know that I’d never dream of holding it… or anything, against you._

_Because appearances aside… I can get ugly too. Devastatingly so._

_I also look people in the eye, speak to them words devoid of meaning._

_I tell them I love them, when I don’t._

_Or, at times... I tell them I don’t love them, when I do._

_This is why it feels as though you’re a part of me, you know. A mirror to my soul. Only you can understand what it is I’m going through. Because you do, too. Both of us are but thieves in the night, cloaked beneath perfect illusions._

_But as you know, I’ve been bewitched by you._

_More than the words you weave so exquisitely into fairytales, I find you beautiful, too. In all your intricacy, and your mystery._

_I accept you, and all your flaws. Because without them, you’re incomplete. And I don’t want that._

_I’ll have your all, or I’ll have nothing._

_Isn’t it strange? I’ve fallen in love without even knowing you._

_You’re the bravest person I know, after all. You had only yourself to rely upon, and yet… there you are. You’ve made it. You against the world, and yet you’ve made it. I couldn’t be any prouder, having known you before you, or I, amounted to anything in this lonely world._

_You fought for your dream._

_And that’s why I hope you know… you can fight for yourself, too. And if you’re scared because you have far to fall, don’t be._

_I’ll be right there to catch you._

_I’m a Sparrow remember? Just say the words… and I’ll fly out to wherever it is that you’re waiting. I hope you’re waiting. Because I will. For as long as it takes._

_Do tell me more about how things are going. If there’s any way I may be able to help… then let me. It’s the least I can do._

_I’ll look forward to your reply, princess._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Busan Sparrow_

 

 

Jihoon smiles, heart racing in his chest, affection and desire for this person he’s never once known rushing in violent torrents through him.

He types in an immediate reply.

 

_Sparrow,_

 

_I’ve missed you. It’s been a while, but the wait was worth it. Thank you for the words of encouragement. They mean the world to me, but I’m sure you already knew that._

_As for your struggles… I understand. Perfectly. At times it may feel as though the weight of the world is upon your shoulders, and that’s fine. You’ll make it through. You always have._

_And that’s what I love about you._

_This time around, you’ll make it to the other side, too. And once you cross the divide, you’ll find me there, cheering you on. I always have._

_And that’s what I love about us._

_You were wrong about one thing, though: Park Tokki’s journey was never me against the world. Because I had you there from the very start._

_It was me, and you, against the universe._

_And yet here we are. We’ve made it. And I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing._

_So fly, my dearest sparrow. I don’t care if it’s beyond my reach. Don’t let me be the one to hold you back. One day I’ll be brave enough to unfurl my own wings, and follow you there. Anywhere. For now… I’ll keep your words of encouragement in my pocket, and continue along my own path with strength. Thanks for walking alongside me. I don’t think I’ll ever get to say that enough._

 

_With love and hope,_

_Park Tokki_

 

 

“That’s sweet,” Kuanlin exclaims, peeping at their exchange over Jihoon’s shoulder. Jihoon elbows him fiercely, furious that he’s managed to overcome Jihoon’s resolute wall of secrecy.

“Stop that, you’re ruining the moment.”

“I had no idea you’d entered into a covert love affair.”

“I—” Jihoon ventures, blushing an angry shade of tomato red. “Of course you don’t.”

“For how long now?”

Jihoon pauses, unsure of where to advance from here.

_Shall I tell him?_

‘What’s the harm in telling?” Kuanlin smiles. “You know me. I’m good at keeping my secrets. Even better at keeping yours. Remember?”

He cocks a head towards the desktop monitor, a reminder of the defamatory issue they’d bypassed thanks to his network of media influence.

“Fine,” Jihoon surrenders. “We’ve written letters back and forth for the past three years now.”

“For how long has she been flirting with you?”

“Not… _that_ long. I just found out myself that...she’d liked me. Quite recently.”

Jihoon swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

_‘She’ isn’t the proper term._

“And you’ve never met?”

“Of course not.”

“You should.”

“Of course not.”

“Why?” Kuanlin asks. “Isn’t this great? Someone out there’s _finally_ given your loner ass the time of day. Thank them for it. _In person._ ”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing is ever _simple,_ to you, is it?”

Jihoon groans, combing through his hair in agitation. “I didn’t ask for my life to be messed with, either. And yet, here we are. Hiding like criminals, even though we’re not.”

“What does _that_ have to do with your Sparrow princess?” Kuanlin forges on.  

 _Sparrow Prince,_ Jihoon thinks. _And therein lies the problem._

_I’m gay, Lai Kuanlin. How do I even begin to let you know of that?_

_How do I even begin to let my Busan Sparrow know I’m not his princess, and that I’ll never be?_

“This… this doesn’t count as _catfishing,_ does it?” he whispers to himself. “It’s not as if he’s ever asked for my gender. Oh god. Why _hasn’t_ he ever asked for my gender?”

“You didn’t get to read the post-script,” Kuanlin says, still peering over his shoulder.

“Post-script?”

Jihoon’s gaze returns to the letter, scanning through its contents.

 

_P.S. Congratulations on I Promise You. I hear the cast is beyond excellence, and I’m a fan of the lead actor, too. What do you think of him? I’m curious O.O_

 

Jihoon’s heart hammers wildly in his chest.

“I should never have read the post-script,” he grumbles. “He’s a fan of Park Woojin?”

“ _Everyone’s_ a fan of Park Woojin,” Kuanlin says. “The guy’s a genius. His _face_ is genius. Bringing Park Woojin into the world was God’s proudest moment. You should probably go visit him on set, one of these days. Say you’re there for your sister.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Jihoon said. “I’m… not a fan.”

“Right,” Kuanlin says. “I do need a word with director Hwang, though. Care to join me there? You’d pass for… my driver, or something. They need not know Park Tokki’s right under their noses.”

“Oh, no. Not today, satan. I’d much rather date Park Woojin than accompany you,” Jihoon says, then regrets it the very moment he lets the words slip.

“Right,” is Kuanlin’s only response. “If you don’t like the guy, you’re good to go. He won’t be there. He called in sick, too.”

“I don’t care if—wait. What? Is… is he alright? What happened?”

Kuanlin flashes a thin-lipped smile, amused by Jihoon’s change in demeanour.

“Isn’t it obvious? He caught your sister’s cold. Or perhaps your sister caught _his_. They kiss on set every five minutes, it’s bound to happen.”

Resentment flares uncontrollably within him, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“Is a kiss scene _that_ difficult to master?”

“Let’s just say,” Kuanlin snickers. “That your sister has the hots for Woojin. Her slip-ups are… _premeditated_ , at times. Intentional. That way she’d get to kiss him more often.”

“I’m going to neck her,” Jihoon says, eye twitching in irritation.

“I assume you’re willing to go on our little expedition now?”

Jihoon huffs in displeasure, arms boxing him in.

_You’re an idiot, Park Jihoon._

_Why’d you write in a shit-ton of kissing scenes into this drama, anyway?_

_And why’d you write them in with tongue?_

_Oh, right._

_This was supposed to be your love story._

_Not your sister’s._

_And Park Woojin wasn’t supposed to be in it._

_Not the real one, anyway._

“It depends,” he says finally. “Where exactly are we going?”

 

***

 

**ACT 2. Beside Every Lead Is a Supporting Character**

 

Park Jihoon is royally pissed.

“ _Yah,_ Lai Kuanlin,” he mutters. “What did you want engraved on you tombstone, again? Because I’m going to _kill_ you.”

They’ve taken cover inside the tent nearest the parking area, which, as it happens, is the entrance to an eerily spectral forest. One of the cameramen is snoring away, his figure splayed across the mat, blissfully unaware of their unplanned intrusion.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” Jihoon hisses. “Do I need an ophthalmologist, or is that _not_ Park Woojin standing right across from our tent?”

_And looking remarkably fine, might I add, which pisses me the hell off._

“Sorry, hyung,” Kuanlin whispers back, looking utterly pleased with himself. “I lied. It's just that your gullibility renders you the perfect target.”

“We _have_ to get out of here,” Jihoon says in dismay. “Before he finds us out.”

“What’s the rush? We didn’t drive five miles out into the… _wilderness,_ for nothing, you know. I’ll have a word with Hwang Minhyun first, and then—”

“Here’s an idea,” Jihoon interjects. “We kidnap Director Hwang, I whoop your ass in the car for pranking me, and then we _all_ have a nice chat over a warm cup of coffee, far, far away from Park _freaking_ Woojin.”

“Oh come _on,”_ Kuanlin whines. “Why make it sound as if Woojin is what your nightmares are made of? You have some beef with the guy?”

“I do, okay? Now stop asking questions.”

“I’m not stopping until you tell me—” Kuanlin halts mid-sentence, the flap to their tent flying abruptly open.

A familiar face pokes his head through, staring beady-eyed at the both of them.

“Well, look what we have here.”

Kuanlin eyes him with faint apprehension, yanking the small-faced youngster by the waist towards his chest. “Shh. Be quiet.”

Jihoon turns away from the pair of them holding each other in casual embrace, embarrassed by the scene unfolding before him.

_What’s gotten these two emboldened?_

_Wait a minute… is that_ —

“Bae Jinyoung?” he ventures. ‘Is that you?”

_What's he doing here? Is he an actor, too?_

_Was I the only one_ _pathetic enough_ not  _to make it as an actor, even though we all agreed upon walking the star road together?_

Jinyoung was a friend he’d made back in Junior High, the third and final member of their ragtag friendship circle. He and Woojin were his closest comrades, and they’d sworn on their lives once before not to part ways once they’d gotten older.

So much for the sanctity of brotherhood.

Jinyoung’s eyes widen into saucers upon recognition. He wriggles out of Kuanlin’s grasp, perching both hands atop Jihoon’s shoulders. “So it _is_ you. Park Ji—”

Jihoon clamps his mouth forcibly shut. “Don’t. I’m on a mission here. I can’t have you blowing my cover prematurely.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Jinyoung whispers. “Why sneak around? Aren’t you here to pay Woojin a visit?”

“No,” Jihoon screeches, harsher than is necessary. “I, uhh… I’m here for my sister, actually. Park Jinsoo.”

“Right,” Jinyoung exclaims. “Things have gotten weird, haven’t they? Your sister, your best friend…”

“Just to clear things up,” Jihoon says. “He’s not my best friend. And I couldn’t care less about him getting with my sister.”

“You’re being defensive,” Kuanlin observes. “Thanks for telling me you’ve never met Park Woojin. I appreciate the honesty.”

Jihoon mouths an apology, guilty as charged.

_Why, why, why?_

_Why is my past returning to haunt me?_

_Park Woojin, Bae Jinyoung._

_If my streak of exposure continues… what comes next? My childhood dream of becoming an actor?_

_Ridiculous._

“Who’s the hottie?” Jinyoung whispers into his ear. “Your boyfriend?”

Jihoon’s heart triple somersaults from within him, caught off-guard by the inquiry.

_Does he know I’m gay?_

“You… you mean _Kuanlin?_ No _. God,_ no _.”_

“You sure?” Jinyoung double-checks. “A hundred-percent sure?”

“A hundred-thousand percent.”

“Great,” Jinyoung grins, mischief belying his angelic features. “I call dibs, then.”

Jihoon’s mouth drops ajar in bewilderment.

“You’re—” he begins.

“Sure I am,” Jinyoung shrugs, in perfect nonchalance. “And what of it?”

 _Shit_ , Jihoon thinks, inner panicked gay triggered. _Confident gays do exist._

“You done gossiping amongst yourselves?” Kuanlin inquires, getting impatient. “If you guys don’t mind, Director Hwang and I have something to discuss.”

“He’s far too busy,” Jinyoung says. “Jinsoo’s absence ruins the taping schedule, so he’s had to make the necessary adjustments. He’s still on the lookout for a body double somewhere.”

“A body double?” Kuanlin reiterates. “What for?”

“Closeup shot,” Jinyoung says. “Kissing scene. We need a stand-in for Jinsoo. Someone with a similar mouth structure. So far, no luck with the ladies onset.”

“The ladies, huh,” Kuanlin beams, flashing Jinyoung all thirty-two of his blinding white teeth. “What about a gentleman?”

He gestures Jihoon’s way.

“Oh _fuck,_ no,” Jihoon glowers. “You can’t _possibly_ be thinking—”

“Jihoon-ah,” Jinyoung smiles, devilry dancing like wildfire in his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that your sister looks _exactly_ like you, but with a fancy-ass wig on?”

“No!” Jihoon hisses. He’d scream at them were it possible, but unleashing his outrage at their suggestion _isn’t_ an option, for as long as the owner of the tent is frolicking through dreamland peacefully behind them.

“Help us out, just this once,” Jinyoung pleads. “I’ll be in your debt for all eternity.”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says. “But you want me to cross-dress as my sister, and _then_ make out with my best-friend? For all the world to see?!”

“You just said he wasn’t your best-friend—”

“Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s _the point_ flying over your head, Jinyoung-ah! I’m not dumb enough to kiss another guy on television!”

“Well,” Kuanlin interrupts, rather unhelpfully so. “Nobody has to know you’re a guy, too.”

“You’re just a kid, Kuanlin-ah. Not _Jesus Christ_. We can’t make miracles happen here, you know. How could you _possibly_ pass me off for a girl?”

“Easy,” Jinyoung says. “Makeup. Wigs. And a shit-ton of helium.”

“No. Over my dead body, which by the way will _haunt_ you every single day and night for the rest of your life if you dare even do this to me.”

“Oh, come on!” Jinyoung chides. “Didn’t you want to become an actor, way back when?”

“Yeah, an actor,” Jihoon agrees. “Not an _actress._ Big difference.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Kuanlin says, about to strike an impressive deal with him.

Jihoon _hates_ whenever that happens, as for some confounded reason, Kuanlin can hypnotize him into giving in, every single damn time.

“Agree to help them out, just this once,” Kuanlin says. “And I’ll help you convince Director Hwang a _peck_ would be better, as opposed to a full-on kiss. No tongue. I’m sure the screenwriter won’t mind.”

Jihoon shoots him a venomous glare. “That’s not enough.”

“Of course not. I’ll introduce you to Director Yoon, too. Help you out on that movie you’ve always wanted to write for.”

 _Goddamn it,_ Jihoon facepalms, nearing his breaking point. He bites his lip, resisting the bait. “Tempting offer, but that’s not _nearly_ enough.”

“I’ll throw in a hundred dollars worth of sweets from the Lotte shop.”

“HAH. You think my virgin lips are worth a bag of candy?”

“ _Several_ bags of candy.”

A pregnant pause fills the air.

“Deal. Where’s the makeup artist?”

Kuanlin and Jinyoung exchange impish glances.

“That easy, huh?” Jinyoung says.

“A piece of cake,” Kuanlin nods. “Literally. That’s all it takes.”

“Tell me where the makeup artist is before I change my mind,” Jihoon says.

“That,” Jinyoung exclaims, utterly entertained. “Would be me.”

 

***

 

Jihoon can hardly believe he’s sold his soul to Lucifer in exchange for a week’s worth of treats.

 _This accursed sweet tooth’s getting me nowhere,_ he thinks. _Is it too late for me to back out of this predicament?_

“Don’t you dare even think of making a run for it,” Jinyoung warns. “You’ll wake the cameraman up, if you do.”

Jinyoung gestures towards the sleeping figure at his feet, now curled snugly into a fetal position.

“Are we sure he’s even… _alive?”_ Jihoon snorts. “The poor guy looks as if he’ll sleep through World War 3, you know. Aliens will have descended from Mars to colonize our planet, and he’ll snore blissfully through the entire ordeal. This guy’s the least of our concerns, I’ll tell you that.”

“Don’t move,” Jinyoung says, lightly dusting peach-tinted powder onto the apple of his cheek. “We’re almost done here.”

“This isn’t gonna work.”

“Sure it is. Just… don’t let anyone get too close.”

“Wow, thanks. Not a problem for someone who’s tryna _make out_ with his co-star. Does a flying kiss from ten meters away count?”

“Certainly not. He’s the exception,” Jinyoung settles. “Don’t you worry, though. Woojin’s open-minded, as I’m sure you know. Even if he _does_ find you out, he’ll keep his mouth shut. Or not. Deep kisses need open mouths, after all.”  

“This isn’t gonna work," Jihoon says, ignoring him. "I look—”

“Flawless,” Kuanlin interjects, making his way towards them. “Fantastic job, Bae Jinyoung- _ssi_. He’s the spitting image of his sister. Just… a bit more modest around the cleavage area.”

“Shut up,”  Jihoon groans. “You have no idea how awful this get-up is. I’m convinced these pads and corsets are medieval torture devices.”

Jihoon’s wearing a turtleneck dress cinched painfully at waist, his masculine figure obscured by the illusion of curvature. The pair of stilettos Jinyoung forced him into are twenty-first century murder weapons, the length of his skirt far too scant for any semblance of comfort. To make matters worse, the breezy sensation around his crotch area is exceedingly unwelcome, and he’s come to resent the fact that he’s never once grown even the tiniest strand of leg hair in his life.

Otherwise, he’d have an excuse not to strut around in garb this absurd.

“This fine young lady is Park Jinsoo’s cousin?” Director Hwang inquires, having barged into the tent to check in on their progress. ‘She’s beautiful, Kuanlin-ah. She a girlfriend of yours?”

“A colleague,” Kuanlin lies. “She’s a film major herself. Just tagging along.”

“A blessing to have her visit at so crucial a time,” the director says. “Hi there. I’m Hwang Minhyun. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Jihoon purses both lips together, making an inferior attempt at a bashful smile.  He keeps his mouth tightly shut, lest he reveal the masculine baritone to his actual voice.

“I apologize for having gotten you caught up in all this,” Minhyun says, looking rather sheepish. “Your cousin Jinsoo’s just… much too free-spirited for her own good. Woojin’s not at his best, either, but he hasn’t once complained or skipped out on taping. If only her work ethic were a little more attuned to his.”

An unidentifiable emotion surges through Jihoon’s chest.

_He hasn’t changed at all._

_Still pushing himself to the very limit._

_I guess he really is a top star for a reason… isn’t he?_

“We’ll start in twenty,” Minyun declares, sparing his wrist-watch a cursory glance. “Have any of you guys seen Jaehwan around?”

“Kim Jaehwan?” Jinyoung blinks. “The cameraman? Director- _nim,_ he’s right there.”

Jinyoung points at Minhyun’s feet, and the gesture baffles Jihoon until it dawns on him that Kim Jaehwan is, in fact, their mystery sleeping beauty.

“Classic,” Minhyun sighs, squatting beside Jaehwan’s dormant figure. “Hey there, sleepyhead. Get up, now. It’s time for—”

Before he can say much else, Jaehwan, half-unconscious, wraps an arm around Minhyun’s neck, pulling him effectively into a wet, sloppy kiss.

Jihoon gapes at them in astonishment, unable to peel his gaze away from the sight of them shamelessly locking lips.

“Now _that’s_ what you call a kiss,” Kuanlin snickers, elbowing Jihoon playfully. “You’d better take notes, _hyung_.”

The brazen display of intimacy carries on for a couple more seconds, before Kim Jaehwan grasps at their presence from the periphery of his vision.

“Oh?” he exclaims. “It seems we have an audience.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Minhyun chuckles, wiping at his bottom lip. “How naughty of you to pretend not to notice.”

“Y-you’re…” Jihoon stammers. “You’re...”

“Yes,” Minhyun smiles. “Why yes, I am.” He moves to help Jaehwan to his feet, straightening out his unkempt appearance. “I also happen to be a _tad_ more perceptive than you’ve given me credit for.”

“You knew,” Jihoon says, oblivious to the bout of motion behind him, yet another guest stumbling into their tent.

“I knew,” Minhyun agrees. “And so does Park Woojin.”

Jihoon looks squarely over his shoulder, and the moment their eyes meet is the moment his world collapses rapidly asunder. His mind goes on overdrive, snapshots of the history shared between them racing post-haste through his memory.

And then, he blanks out.

“H-hi.” he says.

“Hey,” Woojin says back. “You… you’re looking lovely, Park Jihoon. How’ve you been?”

 

***

 

In spite of the knowledge that he’d arrived on-set vastly under-prepared (by virtue of having been unaware that he’d _have_ to prepare to begin with), the one thing Jihoon should’ve foreseen, at the very least, was Park Woojin’s ensemble for the kissing scene in question.

Or lack, thereof.

“Hey,” Jihoon whispers. “You’re… you’re going topless for this one?”

“It’s a bed scene,” Woojin shrugs, patting the feathery comforter they’ve been sitting upon, waiting on stand-by for the cameras to roll. “My character very rarely has a shirt on in bed.”

“R-right…” Jihoon mutters, already sweating profusely.

_I should know. I wrote that character into existence, after all._

Jihoon tries his level best not to drool at the sight of Woojin’s glorious abs from up-close, but his sun-kissed skin does Jihoon’s sanity no particular favours, and neither does the intoxicating sandalwood fragrance of his luxurious _Hugo Boss_ perfume.

 _God help me,_ Jihoon thinks. _I’ve deprived myself of Woojin’s touch for three long years now._

_What is self-control???_

“You alright?” Woojin asks, leaning in slightly towards him. Jihoon is hyper-aware of his presence, of corded muscle flexing with even the barest of movement.

“I’m fine,” he croaks, heart pounding against his ribcage arrhythmically.

“Care to tell me why you’re dressed in your sister’s clothing, again?”

“I’m a stand-in. Long story. You’ll grow a beard before you hear the end of it.”

“We’ll keep it at that, then.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

An excruciating silence hangs in the air between them, before Woojin clears his throat stiffly to break the awkward stillness.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks, disentangling the silky locks of his platinum blonde hair.

Jihoon diverts his attention from the sight of Woojin before him, in the flesh... every bit the starry-eyed youth he’d gotten used to and grown up with.

And yet… _it feels as though I’m meeting him anew._

“I’m alright,” he replies stiffly.

An impenetrable wall ascends between them, and this time around Jihoon thinks he’s not the one who’s made that happen.

“You sure?” Woojin asks. “This wouldn’t… happen to be your first kiss, would it?”

Jihoon gulps, abashed, unsure of what to say next. “What does it matter?”

“I dunno. Your first kiss… it isn’t something you tend to forget all too easily.”

“Then you’d better make it good,” Jihoon says without thinking, engulfed by regret half a beat later.

“Right,” Woojin offers a smile. “I’ll try.”

His posture relaxes mildly, and for a moment Jihoon wonders if things could, perchance, return to how they used to be: hope-filled and trouble-free, before the path ahead of them diverged, and Jihoon decided he’d much rather take the road less traveled.

_The road to letting go, rather than the road to holding onto your shadow._

“This… is a bit unfair, don’t you think?” Woojin asks then, a hint of gaiety in his tone.

“What is?”

Jihoon risks a furtive glance Woojin’s way, whose eyes are already roaming the length of his scantily-clad figure. “I think I may have developed a kink for you dressed in women’s clothing.”

Jihoon’s cheeks flare up in vivid colour, both ears reddening furiously. “Don’t say that out here in public,” he warns. “These people have no idea I’m not _female_.”

“Right,” Woojin says. “Guess I’ll have to appreciate the get-up in silence.”

“Yeah well, drink in your fill,” he says, turning away. “You won’t get to see me this way for much longer.”

“I like the confidence,” Woojin smiles, snaggletooth on full display. “You’re no longer the Jihoon I remember, are you?”

“No,” Jihoon agrees. “Of course not.”

_I’m no longer the Jihoon trailing aimlessly after you._

_No longer the Jihoon you had wrapped around your pinky finger._

_No longer the Jihoon you can play with and dispose of as you wish._

“Get yourselves ready,” Minhyun calls out. “Jiwoo- _ssi,_ turn your body bit more at an angle.”

It takes Jihoon a moment to realize that ‘Jiwoo’ is, in fact, the name Minhyun’s christened him, the fictitious cousin he’s cosplayed as for the past couple hours now.

“Oh, god,” Jihoon mutters, pivoting about in frustration. “This is awkward.”

“Here, let me help you,” Woojin says, resting a hand against the small of his back.

Jihoon’s breath hitches in his throat, an upsurge of emotion he’s kept burrowed within rising progressively to the surface.

“Great chemistry you have going there,” Minhyun remarks. “Keep it up. You ready?”

“Ready when you are,” Woojin whispers.

Jihoon bites at his lower lip, a nerve-filled force of habit. All eyes are on him, gigantic camera lenses facing his way, blinding lights twinkling in and out of focus.

His hands quaver, almost imperceptibly, droplets of sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

His breaths come unevenly, heart pumping wildly.

 _I can’t do this,_ he thinks. _I’m not brave enough._

_This is why I could never have become an actor._

_This is why I’ve buried myself underneath Park Tokki’s disguise._

_I’m not meant for the limelight._

_I can’t do this._

“You can do this, Jihoon-ah,” a familiar voice shatters through his consciousness.

It reminds him, distinctly, of a time long ago, a time during which he had nothing to his name but a dream.

And no one to rely on but himself.

And Park Woojin.

“You can do this,” Woojin whispers, taking him gently him by the hand.

Warmth surges in rising floods through him. Comfort. Relief.

“You can do this.”

“I can do this.”

“Chin up, Park Jihoon,” Woojin says. “You look beautiful.”

Woojin tilts Jihoon’s head gently upwards by the tip of his index finger, until they sit there, eye-to-eye, and Jihoon remembers the thousand-and-one reasons why he fell in love with this boy half a decade ago.

“Ready when you are,” Woojin nods.

“Yeah,” Jihoon nods in return. “Ready when you are.”

From a distance, he hears the slate click shut. “Take one!”

And then Woojin’s lips crash softly against his.

For a moment Jihoon loses all sense of self, caught in the heat of Woojin’s firm embrace.

 _Oh,_ he thinks. _So this is what kissing feels like._

_So much more than he could possibly express in words._

As if of their own volition, Jihoon’s hands trail across Woojin’s biceps, his bare skin, pulling him in by the neck.

 _Just a peck will do,_ he recalls Minhyun saying.

_Yeah._

_To hell with it._

Woojin’s eager lips move hungrily against his, faint guttural sounds low in his throat, the taste of him infused with the musk of perfume driving Jihoon insane.

Woojin breaks away, leaning against him, forehead to forehead.

For a moment they wait in silence for Minhyun’s “cut”.

It doesn’t come.

Woojin tugs at the sleeve of Jihoon’s shirt, claiming his mouth with impatience.

Hands explore him, everywhere, and Jihoon presses himself against Woojin’s chest, hands tangling through his hair, as if they occupy the same space in this world.

_I Promise You was supposed to be our story._

_The embodiment of all our “what if’s”._

_It was never meant to have been anything more than that._

“Princess,” Woojin whispers, an ad-lib of his own. “I’m sorry.”

 _I’m sorry,_ Woojin says, from the darkest depths of Jihoon’s memory.

_We can’t do this._

_I don’t see you that way._

Jihoon pushes him abruptly away.

“CUT!” Minhyun bellows. “Great job, guys! Let’s just... edit out that last bit. Ahh… if only Jinsoo’s scenes were this easy to film.”

Jihoon clamps a hand against his mouth, unsure of what just transpired between them.

“You alright?” Woojin ventures. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Jihoon says, shaking his head with vigor.

_We didn’t just… Oh god._

_OH DEAR GOD._

“Hey, Jihoon,” Woojin begins, reaching tentatively for his left hand. “I… I have something to tell you, if that’s alright.  A couple minutes of your time is all it takes. I promise.”

 _I promise,_ his voice rings in Jihoon’s ears.

_I promise you._

“I don’t believe in promises,” he whispers, under his breath.

“Are you saying something?” Woojin asks, leaning further into him.

“You’re not about to reject me, again, are you?” Jihoon whispers, facing him dead-on. “Tell me that you’re in love with someone else, and you could never see as any more than a brother?”

“That’s…” Woojin stammers. He looks around, eyes heavy-set with worry. “Hey, don’t raise your voice. They might find you out. It doesn’t sound anything like a girl’s, you know.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees. “Because I’m not. I get it.”

Jihoon rises to his feet, trudging angrily towards Jaehwan’s tent.

 _Congratulations for blowing up,_ he thinks to himself.

_Idiot. How are you supposed to face him now?_

“Oh, hey,” Jinyoung greets. “How’d things go?”

He and Kuanlin are packing his tools up, readying him for departure.

“It went _great,”_ Jihoon says, devoid of feeling. “Let’s get out of here, Kuanlin.”

“Eh?” Kuanlin exclaims. “Wait, I still haven’t had that talk with the director—”

“Have it within the next five minutes,” Jihoon demands. “I can’t stay put for much longer.”

“Aren’t you relieving yourself of the costume, at least?” Jinyoung inquires. ‘I mean it looks _stunning_ on you, but that’s company property and—wait. You can’t just strip in here!”

Jihoon keeps on going away. He strips off his clothing, grabs at the makeup wipes, scrubbing forcefully away.

“Hey!” Jinyoung calls out, appalled. “Let me help you, at least.”

Jihoon lets him, the only thought pervading through him his desire to be free of the clothes he wore while Woojin kissed him.

_I can’t fall in love with him, again._

_I can’t put myself through any more of that pain._

A few minutes later, he’s back to his old self, and it feels as though he’s been relieved of a crippling burden he hadn’t until now even known he was carrying.

Moments later, Kuanlin and Minhyun re-enter the tent, squabbling incoherently.

“I don’t think he’ll like that.”

“Nonsense. I was there on-set. He’ll love the idea.”

“Director- _nim_ , you don’t understand, they have a history…”

“Leave it to me, kid.”

He strides gaily towards Jihoon, a spring in his step.

“ _Yah,_ Park Jihoon. I have a proposal to make.”

“No deal,” Jihoon preempts. “Sounds like a horrible idea.”

“You kidding me?” Minhyun beams, unfazed. “I saw your performance with my own two eyes, you know. Seems you have potential as an actor. The scene felt _real_. Vividly so. A thousand times more than it ever was with Jinsoo. Or maybe you and Woojin have natural chemistry? Whatever the case, there’s a role open for you here. A supporting character. Jeon Somin has a little brother, you see—”

“I know that already,” Jihoon says, much harsher than he’d intended. “I… I know that.”

_I wrote that character. Of course I know._

_Jeon Somin’s little brother, Jeon Seojun._

_Who’d grown up admiring the protagonist, Shin Ryujin._

_Whose dream was to follow in his footsteps._

_Be someone Ryujin would be more than proud to call a friend._

_Until one day, he comes to a startling realization: that it’ll never happen._

_Because with every single leap he takes, Shin Ryujin takes two._

_With every step forward, the gap between them grows only wider._

_So, eventually… he gives up._

_And forges a brand new path on his own, so that one day they may stand, not on the same field as leader and follower… but on different fields._

_As equals._

_Not as friends but as strangers._

_And that’s how the story ends._

Jihoon sighs in resignation.

“I’m a fan of Park Tokki, you know,” he lies. “And I heard from an open discussion once that he modeled Jeon Seomin after the person he wanted to become, and Jeon Seojun after _who he was._ ”

_And only one of them gets the guy._

“Is that so?” Minhyun says, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If you’re a fan, then maybe you’re at an advantage in terms of portraying him. Kuanlin tells me you’re a film major. Ever dreamt of becoming an actor?”

 _Yes,_ he thinks.

“No,” he says.

“Well then,” Minhyun shrugs. “It’s never too late to dream anew.”

He offers Jihoon a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Give it some thought. If you’re interested, let me know, and I’ll have you audition.”

At that very moment, Jihoon’s phone buzzes from within his back-pocket.

He retrieves it subconsciously, eyes glued to the screen.

It’s mail from Busan Sparrow.

Jihoon’s heart leaps in his chest.

He swipes the screen, caught in a flurry of anticipation.

 

 

_My dearest Park Tokki,_

 

_I hope this letter finds you well. A lot of… shall I say, interesting things have happened today._

_The ghost of my past has come back for me, demanding I pay it my dues. Which isn’t to say I’m incapable of doing so. I simply… am unsure of how._

_How does one begin to say ‘I’m sorry’ for scars that have not, and may never heal?_

_If there is one thing I fear more than all else in this world, it’s pain._

_Not my own, but pain I’ve brought upon others._

_Especially to those I’ve cherished, deeply in my heart, for much longer than most._

_But if there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s to make up for my mistakes. To learn from them._

_The greatest tutor to success is failure, and that’s something both of us know from experience. We come from nothing, and now… have everything._

_Fall seven times, stand up eight. Again, and again, and again._

_This is my eighth. And should I fail again… my ninth is to follow. I hope you give me courage. You have so much of it left within you, after all._

_You say it’s alright for me to fly beyond your reach. But I don’t want that._

_Let’s fly together, you and I. I hope someday we truly do._

 

_Big love,_

_Your Busan Sparrow_

 

 

“Your Busan Sparrow,” Jihoon whispers to himself.

A small smile erupts through his features. “He always does… come at the perfect time.”

 

_I may no longer have Park Woojin... but I'll always have him._

_My Busan Sparrow. My first, and number one fan._

_The wind beneath my wings, t_ _he only reason why I've made it this far._

_I can't disappoint him._

_Not now, and not ever._

 

The entrance to their humble tent flies open a third time, and this time around, it’s Park Woojin himself.

“There you are,” Woojin says, huffing in exhaustion. “You… you walked out on me. I thought you’d run into the forest. Had no idea you’d disappeared into the tent’s other entrance.”

He wipes at his temple, sweat beading at the brow.

“Have you been looking for me?” Jihoon asks.

Woojin smiles at him, and it’s the smile that, once upon a time, Jihoon could never get enough of. “Yes, I’ve been looking for you. You have no idea for how long now, Park Jihoon.”

He walks the remaining distance between them, giving Jihoon a high-definition view of his well-sculpted body.

“I have something to tell you. It’s _really_ important.”

“Uhh, yeah,” Jihoon says distractedly. “Go put on a shirt first.”

“This has me emotional,” Jinyoung exclaims, jogging towards the both of them. He wraps an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them closer together. “This is our big reunion. Now we _all_ get to work on this drama.”

“We do?” Woojin asks. “How come? I haven’t been filled in on the details.”

“I offered him a supporting role,” Minhyun explains. “I’m still waiting on the answer, but we’ll get there. And I sure do hope it works in my favour.”

Woojin turns to him, and Jihoon can almost swear that his eyes, mirrors to the soul, are glistening ever so splendidly in wonder.

“That’s great news,” he says. “This… this is your chance.”

The truth is, Jihoon _still_ isn’t convinced that his starring in a drama he wrote himself is as brilliant an idea as everyone else seems to think it is.

Due in most part to the fact that it defeats the purpose of him _avoiding_ Park Woojin for three long years.

All his efforts to forget about what once he’d let himself feel for his brother-in-arms, his closest companion... would all have been in vain, should he accept the offer.

And yet, amidst the chaos of thought, his mind’s eye snags at something else in perfect clarity: a sparrow mid-flight, the exemplar of what it means to set oneself _free._

He calls to heart Busan Sparrow’s words:

_And that’s why I hope you know... you can fight for yourself, too. And if you’re scared because you have far to fall, don’t be._

_I’ll be right there to catch you._

As if on cue, Woojin’s right hand finds his, interlocking their fingers together.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon smiles. “I’ll do it.”

“You…” Minhyun ventures, caught entirely by surprise. “You will?”

“Sure I will,” he repeats, more to himself than to anyone else. “When do I audition?”

~PART ONE END~

 


	2. PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M LATE FOR 2PARK WEEK AND WOOJIN'S BIRTHDAY BUT OH WELL
> 
> HOPE YA GUYS LIKE IT NEVERTHELESS!!!

**ACT 3. Underneath Every Smile is My Secret**

 

Three months have passed since Jihoon's audition for Seojun's role in _I Promise You_.

Three months since his path of convergence with the person he’d sworn to leave behind.

Three months since their very first kiss.

Or their first couple kisses, strictly speaking.

The blasted kisses he’s sacrificed sleep mulling over, time and time again.

That aside, he has little to gripe about.

He’s gotten accepted for the role, and as mercy may have it, so far so good. Overtime, he’s become “the nation’s little brother”, and the media, feature-hungry as ever, feasted upon the “fact” that he admired his top-star sister enough to follow in her tracks towards fame and renown.

As troublesome as the press may be, nonetheless, he has the distraction to thank for his sanity.

Otherwise, he’d go nuts being in Woojin’s presence. All the damn time.

The cast and crew goes about filming from dawn till dusk, and chronic fatigue is a syndrome common amongst them. Park Woojin works the hardest of all, and loathe as Jihoon may be to admit it, but Woojin’s dedication to his craft is admirable.

Where _I Promise You_ is headed, therefore, he has nothing to worry about.

Where the matters of the heart are concerned, however... to say things have taken a rather crooked, unpleasant turn is—as it stands—a _colossal_ understatement.

In fact, the term “understatement” is an understatement in itself.

_Why can't things work out the way I’d like them to, for once?_

“You alright?” And entirely familiar, and equally obnoxious voice speaks up, grinding his train of thought to a screeching halt.

_The guy’s timing is impeccable, as per usual._

_Impeccably annoying, that is._

He comes to his senses, only then acknowledging the jarring reality that both of them are standing feet apart inside the on-set master’s bedroom. A bedroom vacant, the incongruous pair of them aside.

 _Great job, Park Jihoon,_ he sighs in defeat _._

_Three months have come and gone, and yet you’re miles away from getting used to his company._

“I'm fine,” Jihoon croaks, unable to keep the agitation at bay. “Don't mind me.”

“Mmm,” Woojin murmurs. He props an arm against the bedpost, and Jihoon finds himself hyper-aware of every single movement Woojin is making, no matter how faint or how subtle.

“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” Woojin says, the sound of his voice making Jihoon’s spine tingle.

“I'm afraid you'll have to deal with the impossible, then.”

Jihoon takes a small step backwards, an attempt at broadening the gap Woojin’s narrowed between them.

His traitorous eyes drift involuntarily towards the collarbones Woojin’s scoop neck shirt have left exposed, the sharp angles of his clean-shaven face, his godforsaken, captivating mouth.

_Why, why, why, why._

_Why do I find myself in these situations all too frequently?_

_Where it's just me, and him, and all these perilous thoughts poking at my consciousness?_

“The bedroom setting isn't helping,” Jihoon grumbles. “I’m leaving.”

He makes for the door, but Park Woojin is much, much faster. He springs forwards, obstructing Jihoon’s path towards the exit. “Not so fast, princess.”

Jihoon's heart leaps recklessly to his throat.

“What did you just call me?”

A flurry of cryptic emotions flickers briefly through Woojin's puzzling expression.

“Ah,” he exclaims. “Sorry about that. Force of habit.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow into serpentine slits. “Referring to me as your 'princess’ was _never_ a habit.”

“That's not what I meant,” Woojin explains, defensive. “I just…Ah. I guess your… foray into your sister’s character has been emblazoned permanently into my thought pool. The role fit you like a glove.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen into saucers, cheeks aflame in lucid colour.

_What am I to you exactly?_

_Only one other person dares call me his “princess”, you know._

Jihoon stares Woojin down a moment longer, objectionable theories overstepping his logic.

_It can't possibly be him… right?_

He contemplates this possibility a while, swamped by self-reproach half a heartbeat later.

_Of course not._

_Busan Sparrow's a lawyer, not an actor. And he's older than me, not the other way around. It's all just… a coincidence, nothing more than that._

_It has to be._

“Where have you come from, again?” he asks anyway.

“The dining area. They’re having supper out there. You hungry?”

“Ugh, no. I'm referring to where you came from when you were _born.”_

“Oh,” Woojin mutters. “My mother's womb? Was that a trick question?”

“Well, I must admit I had _no_ idea,” Jihoon declares, dripping in blatant sarcasm. “I thought she laid an egg and out you came, just like a little baby…”

_Sparrow._

_Haha. No way. What am I thinking?_

“I’m from Busan,” Woojin says then, his expression grim. “Can’t believe you’ve forgotten. It hasn’t even been that long since…”

A discomfiting pause fills the stagnant air, and it nauseates Jihoon to the point of distress.

“Since _what_?” Jihoon proclaims, his tone a challenge.

He peers at Woojin, into the depths of his beguiling eyes. Within them are faint sparks of mystique, where his darkest of secrets, forgotten, have been consigned into oblivion for eternity.

“Since the day you packed up and left our friendship behind,” Woojin whispers.

A thousand and one thorns prickle synchronously through Jihoon, piercing his injured heart straight through.

“Don’t make it sound as if I wanted that to happen.”

_I’d have stayed, if you’d have let me._

_But what place did I have left in your life, when you fell helplessly in love and gotten swept immediately away from me? By your first love, and soon enough… your best friend._

_One of which, I’ve always been, and the other, I’ve always dreamt I’d become._

_Ah,_ Jihoon thinks, shivering involuntarily. _How lonely a place that would be._

“You met your princess,” Jihoon shrugs, bitterness made vague by a shroud of nonchalance. “I was heartbroken, and couldn’t take it. I needed space, no matter how pathetic the excuse. Enough to get over the feelings you’d never reciprocate, at the very least.”

Sharp melancholy passes succinctly through Woojin’s features, as if he’s sorry for having been misunderstood.

For a moment Jihoon wonders if he’s managed to punch a hole through wall between them.

“And as for you?” Woojin asks then. “How’ve you been, all these years?”

“As for me,” Jihoon whispers, the faint echo of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “My heart no longer belongs to you.”

He looks deep into both of Woojin’s eyes as he says this, as if to make it clear that he’s drawn a line between them, one neither of them should be unwise enough to cross.

 _I’ve found someone else,_ he convinces himself.

_Unless..._

“That guy… can’t also be have been _you_... right?” Jihoon says aloud without meaning to.

“What guy?”

Jihoon turns away from him, flustered by his lapse in judgment. “N-nothing.”

_Fate can’t have been toying around with me, all this time._

_It can’t have me running circles around you, into your arms, despite thinking that all this time… I’ve finally escaped you._

_I can deal with your rejection, Park Woojin. But if my dearest Busan Sparrow refuses me, likewise... I think I'd die little by little inside, until I have no choice but to kneel at the altar of grief and claim it my one true master._

_At the temple of every other reject out there._

_One that always has been, and always will be._

_But what if... he's already turned me down? Because Busan Sparrow is…_

“Park Woojin,” Jihoon whispers.

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn't… happen to be keeping secrets from me, would you?”

Woojin’s right eyebrow quirks upward, baffled by so candid an interrogation.

“Maybe?” he ventures, hesitant. “We all have our secrets.”

Jihoon moves even farther away from him, one gradual step after the next. His right leg hits the bed-frame, and he topples out of balance onto the cottony duvet.

“Careful!” Woojin exclaims, hastening towards him. He sinks to one knee in front of Jihoon, genuine concern etched across his features. “Are you alright?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Jihoon asks.

“Tell you… what, exactly?”

“Your secrets.”

_Make it easier for the both of us._

_Because all these fables and untruths between us… they’re suffocating, don’t you think?_

“Tell me your secrets,” Jihoon implores. “And I’ll tell you mine.”

For a long, long moment Woojin’s expression is blank. Inscrutable.

“On one condition,” he smiles eventually. “You go first.”

He reaches for a lock of Jihoon’s hair, tucking it neatly to the side, as if to get a closer look at his face, and all the mysteries embedded within.

“What is it that you want from me?”

Woojin’s lips turn up slightly, pleased that finally, they’re getting somewhere.

He rises to his feet, only to sink back down and onto the bed, inches away from where Jihoon is sitting.

“The truth,” he says. “You say you left in order to figure yourself out. To stamp out the feelings you once harboured for me.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon nods. “That would be correct.”

“So... have you?” Woojin inquires. “Have you gotten over me?”

“I have,” Jihoon says, nervous. He turns away from Woojin’s biting gaze, afraid that should he look long enough, he’d slip through the cracks and discover Jihoon’s intent. “Of course I have. I’ve also… met someone else, and fallen in love with him.”

“Ahh,” Woojin says, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper.

“Then I really _have_ been replaced, huh,” he says, and Jihoon can very nearly swear he hears a tinge of disappointment in Woojin’s unstable tone. “Your agent is your new best friend… and you’ve gotten rid of the feelings you had for me, once.”

“Yes,” Jihoon reiterates, not missing a beat.

 _Liar,_ he thinks to himself. _Liar, liar, liar._

“That makes me kind of sad,” Woojin admits. He leans back against the bed, head cocked towards the ceiling. “I’ve always kind of hoped things could go back to normal.”

Jihoon observes him quietly, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “And why is that?”

Woojin looks at him, mouth slightly ajar, the tension between them thick enough to cut and peel through with a knife.

“I guess I’ve come to think of your feelings as… a _lifeline_ , of sorts,” he says. “The solitary thread tethering me to the barest scrap of hope I have left at getting you back.”

“So you’d rather I’ve spent these past three years _agonizing_ over your rejection?” Jihoon frowns.

“No,” Woojin sighs. “I’m not that selfish.”

He and Jihoon share another glance, but this time around, Park Woojin no longer keeps his hands to himself.

He sits up, reaching for Jihoon’s arm, pulling him into a snug embrace.

Jihoon’s breath hitches in his throat, neither able to speak nor move.

“Maybe… a little selfish,” Woojin confesses. “I… I’ve really missed you, Jihoon-ah.”

For a small, insensate moment, Jihoon sinks even further into Woojin’s embrace.

 _This feels like home,_ he thinks.

And then the memory of loss spills over him, as if a dam within him has collapsed under the crushing weight of denial.

_I can’t let myself fall for you, again._

_I just can’t._

He pushes Woojin forcibly away.

“Is that why you’ve come here?” Jihoon demands. “To put that silver-tongue of yours to good use?”

“Yes, and no,” Woojin smiles, unfazed by Jihoon’s recoil. “I’ve been meaning to let you know, but I do have more pressing matters to discuss with you.”

He pushes away from the bed, marching over to the door.

Jihoon hears the lock click shut.

“What are you doing?” he inquires.

“Locking the door?”

“What for?”

“Privacy.”

 _Oh no,_ Jihoon thinks, horrified. _Don’t do that._

“Is… is that necessary?”

“Why?” Woojin grins, making his way towards the bed. “Are you nervous?”

_Damn right I am._

“Of course not.”

“Some things just never change, do they?” Woojin chuckles. “You’re as terrible a liar as ever.”

Jihoon pouts, puffing both cheeks out angrily.

_Then why can’t you tell that after everything I’ve been through… my heart still beats for you?_

Jihoon bites his lip, silencing the incessant voice inside his head.

_No, that can’t be right. I’m over you, Park Woojin._

_...Right?_

“That’s how I know you really _do_ have someone else in your life, now,” Woojin explains. “Your eyes just kind of… _gleam_ whenever you mention him. Or her. Doesn’t matter.”

He rubs at his temple, as if to massage away the distress anchored to him by the ankle, threatening to pull him under at any given moment.

“Here,” he says, handing over a well-worn pile of printer paper.

“What is this?”

“Your copy of the script. It kind of baffles me that you ignore it. I had no idea you’ve gotten your lines down pat.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees. “I remember them. By heart.”

 _I_ wrote _these lines myself. Of course I do._

_And of all the characters I’ve written into being, Jeon Seojun resonates with me the most._

_Because he and I are true mirrors._

_Down to the fact that we don’t quite get our ‘happily ever after’._

_How could we, deprived of our ‘once upon a time’?_

“That works in my favor, then,” Woojin smiles, snaggletooth making the briefest appearance. “Help me run through these lines, just once. And tell me if I’ve gotten the feel of Shin Ryujin right.”

“You do him justice with minimal effort,” Jihoon shrugs.

_I’ve based his character off of you, after all._

_And a part of me wishes you knew that._

_For you to understand how desperately, and catastrophically I'd been in love with you._

_Enough to understand that my feelings were dangerous, neither for you, nor for me, but for the both of us._

_And that soon enough, because I let the fear of heartbreak defeat me… I had to let you go._

“This run through,” Jihoon concludes. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Yeah,” Woojin agrees, to Jihoon’s utmost surprise. “Me neither.”

“Then why are you here?” Jihoon blinks.

“It was an excuse,” Woojin admits. “An excuse for me to spend just a little more time with you.”

A whirlwind of emotion, tumultuous yet indescribable, surges momentarily through him.

_Don’t, Park Woojin._

_Don’t you dare say another word._

“If that’s too much to ask,” Woojin continues, sheepish. “I’m sorry. I just… you don’t understand how long I’ve been _looking_ for you. You relocated to another town without telling me, rendered all your contact numbers obsolete, deleted your SNS accounts, enrolled into a different school…you _vanished_ . Left with neither a single trace nor a last-minute goodbye. At one point, after I’d gathered the funds, I was gotten desperate enough to consider hiring a private investigator to uncover the trail you’d kept hidden when you left. But I knew you’d never forgive me for that, so I held back, but _barely_ so.”

He searches Jihoon’s glassy-eyed stare, probing them for the starkest traces of meaning.

Both of his hands find Jihoon’s face, stroking gently at his cheek, as if to treasure him.

Cherish him.

Love him.

I’ve really, truly missed you, Park Jihoon,” he whispers, and it sounds almost as if he’s on the verge of tears. “If you leave me again, I don’t think– _”_

“Stop it,” Jihoon interrupts, touching one trembling finger to Woojin’s lips, the soft feel of them a stubborn reminder of the kiss they’d shared three months earlier. “I… I get it already.”

 _Ah,_ he thinks. _The media was right about you._

_You really are… a sensational kisser._

For a long while, he and Woojin gaze into each other’s eyes, not a single word spoken aloud between them.

As if they understand, as they are, that things are finally changing between them.

And then Park Woojin breaks into a startling smile.

Jihoon lets a breath loose, a piece of him shattering abruptly into pieces.

“I get it,” he says, finally, poring over the script. “Which part did you need my help with?”

“This one,” Woojin says, flipping the pages over until they’ve reached Act Three.

He taps at a singular sentence, and Jihoon squints at where his index finger just landed.

“You taste like heaven on earth to me," he reads.

 _You… taste like heaven on earth to me?_ he thinks, panic settling in.

_That doesn’t sound right…_

“H-hang on,” Jihoon stutters. “This… this is a kissing scene. Between you and my _sister_.”

“She’s not here,” Woojin shrugs. “Your sister’s attendance record is abysmal for main leads, and I’ve come to find out you make for a _wonderful_ substitute.”

Jihoon gawks at him, stupidly offended.

“So if she _were_ here, you’d run through these lines with her? You’d practice _kissing scenes_ together?”

“Well, yeah,” Woojin ponders. “There a problem?”

“N-no.”

Much to Jihoon’s chagrin, his reluctance doesn’t quite escape Woojin’s hawk-eyed intuition.

“Liar,” Woojin smirks. “Sounds as if you’re jealous.”

“If I agree to this, will you _shut up_ already?” Jihoon says, on the brink of utter humiliation.

“Sure,” Woojin chuckles. “You go first.”

He gestures in sweeping motions for Jihoon to proceed.

Jihoon heaves in a breath, calling Jeon Somin’s character to mind.

“Ryujin-ah,” he whispers, reading the script from memory. “I don’t understand. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“Then,” Woojin says in light mischief, possessed entirely by Ryujin’s headstrong persona. “Shall I help you understand?”

“I don’t need your _help_ ,” Jihoon declares. “I need an agreement.”

“Oh? What about?”

“That the games end here,” Jihoon says, looking into Woojin’s eyes.

And drowning in the fathomless abyss of them.

“That you’ll give my heart a break, just once. Because I’m tired of these silly diversions. Of not knowing whether or not your intent is to care for me, or tear me apart.”

“Your feelings,” Woojin replies. “Aren’t _games_ for me to play. And neither are you a toy for me to mess with.”

“Then what _am_ I to you?” Jihoon demands. “I’m not your princess. I have nothing to give you.”

“And I have nothing to ask of you, either,” he says.

At this line, he reaches for Jihoon’s left hand, entwining their fingers together.

“Only that you believe me when I say,” he whispers. “That I love you.”

One moment, Woojin’s hands have found the small of his back.

And the next, his lips are pressed softly upon Jihoon’s own, the taste of him clouding the rest of Jihoon’s senses.

At first, their kisses are slow and searching, as if to keep themselves in check. But as Woojin pushes the limits to Jihoon’s limited restraint, his mouth trailing kisses along his cheek, down to his jaw and neck, Jihoon finds himself tugging subconsciously at Woojin’s shirtsleeve, a silent plea for more.

Woojin’s feather-light kisses turn hungry, nipping once or twice at his lips. Jihoon can’t tell which way he prefers it; one has his heart soaring, the other has his chest burning aflame.

Woojin’s arm snakes around his waist, fingers running in gentle motions through Jihoon’s hair.

Their mouths collide once more, the perfect give and take, Woojin’s velvet-soft lips pressed to Jihoon’s bare skin, making him feel as if he’d do anything, anything at all, for the moment to last an eternity more.

“You taste like heaven on earth to me,” Woojin whispers. “Jihoon-ah.”

At the sound of his own name, Jihoon stiffens abruptly.

The fantasy he’s built around their kiss crumbles into dust, a mirage he’s seen right through.

“C-cut,” he stutters. “That’s… that’s not my name in this drama.”

“Ah,” Woojin exclaims, utterly apologetic. “Sorry. I think I’ve gotten carried away. That… was rather _fun,_ though.”

A devilish smile settles onto Park Woojin’s features, and that’s all it takes for Jihoon’s well-built composure to break.

“Am I a _game_ to you?” he demands. “Your plaything?”

Woojin gapes at him, caught entirely off-guard. “Hey. That’s not in the script.”

“Am I your plaything, _Park Woojin?”_ he repeats, louder this time around. “ _Answer me_.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Woojin whispers, unsure of what to say or do. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You already knew,” Jihoon says, wiping angrily at his mouth. “That I fell in love with you. And because you said _no_ I had to let my feelings go, even if it took _every_ ounce of courage within me to admit that my love for you had gone beyond friendship.”

His hands are trembling, crumpling the first few pages of his script.

“Now what?” he carries on. “Because I stumble into your life by accident, your grand plan is to _seduce_ me? Delude me into thinking you’ve changed your mind, and that all of a sudden, you’re capable of loving another _boy_ ? Why now, when back then you were so adamant about rubbing in my face the fact that we were _brothers?_ As if it didn’t already kill me to think I’d done the world a tremendous misdeed by loving you. Because that’s the only crime I’ll ever be willing to admit to.”

Tears streak down the sides of his face, but he makes no move to wipe them away.

“You said you were over me,” is Woojin’s only response.

This serves only to infuriate him even further.

“You said I was a liar. So maybe I am.”

“No,” Woojin retaliates. “You’re in love with somebody else. That wasn’t a lie, I could tell.”

“If you already knew that, why kiss me, then? I only agreed to this because I thought we were _acting!_ ”

“It’s just a kiss, Park Jihoon,” Woojin whispers. “And you’re right. I _am_ an actor. And so are you. By this point… kisses should mean nothing, for the both of us.”

“It’s _just_ a kiss, huh,” Jihoon flashes a bitter smile, fiercely disappointed. “And you say _I’m_ the liar.”

He gets up, making for the door, and this time around, Woojin makes no move to stop him.

“Don’t call out my _actual_ name, then,” he says. “And maybe next time, I’ll be nice enough to play the fool and believe you.”

 

**ACT 4. Within Every Page Is Your Memory**

 

Three months ago, Jihoon would never have believed he’d _finally_ set one foot onstage and become the actor he’d only once dreamt he could be.

It was a dream he’d learnt the hard way to let go of, the same way he’d learnt to give up on Park Woojin.

With conviction, and without looking back.

Without thinking he’d find his way back to that miraculous, illusory dream.

“You ready, Jihoon-ah?” Kuanlin asks, patting at his forehead with a towel.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Jihoon shrugs. “No worries. I’ve got this.”

“Great,” Kuanlin beams. “Then let’s get it!”

He gives Hwang Minhyun an enthusiastic thumbs up, who, in turn, smiles with pride at the both of them.

“Take one!” Minhyun calls out. “Here we go.”

 

***

 

Seojun no longer remembers how long or short a time it is that he’s spent standing there, waiting, at the place he and Ryujin first met.

He walks over to the balustrade, looking over the edge to the scenery below. It’s a peaceful neighborhood, and Seojun can’t quite remember any other time he must’ve spent in perfect tranquility.

The peace is short-lived, but it hardly even matters.

“There you are!” a voice calls out from behind him. He need not look back for him to know it’s Shin Ryujin.

“You bastard!” Ryujin exclaims, jogging with heavy footsteps towards him. “You have any idea how long I’ve been running around looking for you?”

His breaths are short. Heavy. As if he’s run a ten-mile marathon. “Can’t believe you were right under my nose.”

“How’d you find me?” Seojun asks, curious.

“I have no idea,” Ryujin laughs, mussing Seojun’s already bedraggled mane of hair, as if he’s given up and let the wind have its way with him.

“But I always do,” Ryujin smiles, victorious. “I guess I know you well enough. We spent our afternoons up here as children _all the time._ This place is our sanctuary. Our safest haven. _Of course_ I’d find you here. Can’t believe it’s taken me this long to figure it out.”

He pulls Seojun into an affectionate embrace, matching any display of resistance Seojun tried, and failed, to put up against him. “It’s where I always find you, you know. Whenever you’re at your best, or at your worst. This is the place you never fail to return to.”

Seojun writhes free of Ryujin’s grasp, and this time around, Ryujin lets him.

“I’m leaving,” he whispers, against bated breaths. “And this time, I mean it for good.”

The silence between them is deafening.

“You can’t just do that,” Ryujin says, and it looks as if he’s aged a decade. “What about me?”

“What _about_ you?” Seojun echoes. “You’re more than happy here. You have my sister.”

“Your sister has _nothing_ to do with any of this.”

“That may be true,” Seojun nods. “But it has everything to do with me. And _I_ wish to leave. That’s all there is to it.”

“Where are you going, then?” Ryujin asks, a hint of despair in his inflection.

“This is where I say my goodbyes,” Seojun smiles, dodging the inquiry altogether. “I have my own path to follow, now. But don’t you worry. I’m neither angry, nor disappointed in you. In fact… I’m both angry and disappointed in  _myself_ for having made you feel as if you’re meant to take blame.”

“Stop it with the riddles,” Ryujin laughs, and yet it's laughter stripped bare of even the slightest trace of joy. “I don’t understand why any of this has to happen.”

“I have to be my own person,” Seojun explains. “My world can’t always revolve around you.”

“You can be your own person without leaving me behind.”

“I’m not leaving you behind, Shin Ryujin. I’m leaving behind the shadow of you that I’ve become.”

A maple leaf settles atop Seojun’s mop of hair, and Ryujin reaches out to swipe it for him.

“You’ll return to me,” Ryujin says, more a statement of fact than an invitation. “You’ll return.”

“Perhaps,” Seojun smiles. Only time will tell.”

“You’ll return,” Ryujin repeats to himself. “Brothers are brothers. And no matter how far beyond my reach your path may take you… in the end, I know you’ll make it back home.”

Seojun nods, as if to say, _you’re right._

_Y_ _ou always are._

But in his heart of hearts, he knows.

He knows the home he wishes to return to.

And it’s a home without Shin Ryujin in it.

“Goodbye, dear friend,” he says. “And one day, may all of your hopes and dreams come true.”

 

***

 

“CUT!” Minhyun bellows.

Jihoon returns to reality, shaken forth from his state of reverie.

“That was beautiful, Jihoon- _ssi_ !” Minhyun applauds. “Ah, seriously… I’ve no idea where you pull these emotions from, but it feels _real._ You don’t just play the role of Seojun. You _become_ him.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon bows politely. “Your praise means a lot to me, director- _nim_.”

“You’ve done well too, Woojin- _ssi_ ,” Minhyun adds. “As may be expected. The despair was believable. _Bravo,_ both of you!”

“Well, what can I say?” Woojin smiles, distant. “What can I say, when I meant every word.”

“Hmm?” Minhyun blinks. “Am I missing something here?”

“Not really,” Woojin shrugs, feigning indifference. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He dismisses himself, trudging heedlessly past.

“You do something to upset him?” Kuanlin inquires, strolling over to Jihoon’s side, Bae Jinyoung in tow. “I can tell.”

“You’ve pushed him away again,” Jinyoung conjectures. “Haven’t you?”

“He crossed the line,” Jihoon shrugs. “It’s not my fault.”

“It’s never your fault,” Kuanlin respires. “You always find a way to push the blame onto others.”

“That’s not–”

“Haven’t you realized,” Kuanlin forges on. “That maybe you’ve driven _yourself_ against a corner? That maybe you’re both the suspect and the victim of your own failure to own up to the mistakes you’ve committed?”

“Kuanlin-ah–” Jinyoung ventures. “Maybe this isn’t the right time…”

“Park Woojin isn't a malicious person,” Kuanlin continues, incontestably mired in frustration. “You and I both know that. So stop it, Jihoon-ah. Stop pushing him away, or duping yourself into thinking he meant to hurt you in order to justify the fact that _you_ left _him,_ and not the other way around.”

Every word leaving Kuanlin’s mouth is a thorn in Jihoon’s side, and he knows, deep down, that such words hurt because they’re borne of the truth.

And the truth hurts.

But that doesn’t make it unacceptable.

“I’m leaving,” Jihoon says. “Thank you, Kuanlin-ah. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kuanlin smiles. “Now get in there and do me proud. Otherwise I'm calling the police on your idiocy.”

 

***

 

“Hey there.”

“Hey.”

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

He’s followed Woojin into his tent, privacy be damned.

Thankfully enough, the latter doesn’t seem to mind.

“I can’t stay mad at you for very long,” Woojin says. “We _are_ co-workers, and this is our job. Animosity is an enemy to professionalism, after all.”

“At least in that regard,” Jihoon smiles, still standing sheepishly to the side. “We’re on the same page.”

“Yeah,” Woojin agrees. “Guess that’s as good as it’ll ever get.”

Jihoon crosses the small rift behind them, and soon he comes to realize it’s the very first instance since their unplanned reunion that he’s taken the liberty of closing the distance between them, as opposed to running instinctively away.

“How have things been with your girlfriend?” he ventures.

Woojin blinks, unsure of what to say.

“My… what?”

“You… you don’t have one? A girlfriend.”

“You joking?” Woojin says. “My manager would _murder_ me.”

“Then what of that girl you left me for?”

_There it is._

_I’ve reopened the scar._

_There’s no turning back from this point onwards, Jihoon-ah._

“I never left you for anyone,” Woojin frowns. “I never left, period. _You_ threw us away on your own.”

“I left,” Jihoon agrees. “Because you fell in love with someone else, and I drowned myself in loathing and self-pity for it. I understand that… I’m at fault here. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

For a moment Woojin simply takes in the sight of him, as if he’s staring at an entity he’s never laid eyes on before.

“Wow,” he says, finally. “What’s gotten into _you_?”

“Nothing,” Jihoon shrugs. “I’m only wondering if… if you did get the chance to tell her. That you loved her.”

“No,” Woojin says, and Jihoon can hear his own heart pumping adrenaline at breakneck speeds. “Should I? Will that make you happy?”

“Will that make _you_ happy?” Jihoon echoes.

This time, Woojin spans the gap between them, both hands at rest atop Jihoon’s shoulders.

He looks into both of Jihoon’s eyes, straight through to his treacherous soul.

“If you are, then I am, too,” he whispers. “So tell me. Will that make you happy?”

 _No,_ his head thinks. _Let your love for her go._

 _Yes,_ his heart whispers. _This time around, I’m more than willing to pay the price._

_I'll make up for it. I will._

“Tell her,” he says. “And don’t you return without her company.”

 

***

 

“I’m back,” Jihoon calls out, making his way back to his own tent. “You guys in here?”

An eerie silence is the sole response, and this leads Jihoon to think Kuanlin and Jinyoung have gone on an excursion without him.

“Where have those two been traipsing around this time?” he muses.

Jihoon’s bewilderment is interrupted by persistent vibrations from within the depths of his pocket. He fishes out his phone, and sure enough, he’s gotten mail.

“Ah,” Jihoon smiles. “My Busan Sparrow.”

He reads through the letter intently.

 

_My dearest Park Tokki,_

 

_I know I’m being upfront for… well, no good reason, but I don’t think I can keep this—_ _whatever this is—_ _going on between us for that much longer._

_I have to know… whom exactly it is that I’ve fallen in love with._

_I have to know._

_Who you are. What you look like. If you’re as beautiful as I’ve always believed you are, or perhaps even more so._

_I know it’s selfish, but it’s my one true wish._

_And this time around, my greatest hope… is that you find the strength enough to entertain this monumental request._

_I know you have it in you, Park Tokki._

_I have to know._

_Otherwise... I may end up losing you, too._

_And should that happen, I truly… will have nothing left. Nothing at all._

_I’ll be waiting, at the rooftop of the Spring Sky Garden at 7 o’clock in the evening._

_I’ll be waiting. For as long as it takes._

 

_With love everlasting,_

_Your Busan Sparrow_

 

 

Jihoon’s heart hammers wildly in his chest, unable to shake away the suspicion that Busan Sparrow’s peculiar offer is more than just the simple byproduct of heightened curiosity.

_Why, all of a sudden?_

_Why is it that Park Woojin’s exploits coincide with Busan Sparrow’s, almost without fail? It’s as if…_

And then it hits him.

_What are the odds?_

_They are slim, yes._

_But stranger things have happened. Haven't they?_

And if that _is_ the case…

“I’m an idiot,” Jihoon mutters.

_And a coward. I still am._

Both hands all aquiver, he pens in a concise response.

 

 

_My Dearest Sparrow,_

 

_I appreciate the intent. And I do wish to find out more about the man beneath the alias, myself._

_But I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to meet you, just yet._

_The mask I’ve worn before you, all this time… it’s become a part of me, and the line between who I am, and who you’ve come to know me as, have long since muddied into indistinction._

_Time heals all wounds._

_And the time I’ve been given... is not_ nearly _enough._

_Is there a chance that you might wait for me, just a little bit more?_

_You tell me you will, however long it takes._

_I’ll count on that, dearest sparrow._

_Until I come to terms with the person I’ve become, until I right all of my wrongs, until I’m brave enough to meet you with my head held high, to look you in the eye and say,_

_This is who I am._

_The Park Tokki that loves you so._

_In the meantime… I’m not going anywhere._

_And that’s a promise._

 

_Yours forever,_

_Park Tokki_

 

 

**ACT 5. After Every Storm Comes A Rainbow**

 

“Hey.”

“...”

“hEY.”

“...”

“HEY.”

“...”

“I SAID HEY GODDAMNIT!”

“WHAT NOW?” Jihoon roars back, glaring impatiently at his bothersome agent.

They’re back at Jihoon’s apartment, after having travelled five miles down south to the quaint neighborhood they’d filmed all day in.

“For how long now have you been sitting there, staring _unflinchingly_ into outer space? You’d win a staring contest with a boulder, at this point.”

“Don’t mind me,” Jihoon says, waving him zestfully away. “I’m having a pep talk with God, and it ends at 8:30.”

“Yeah, right,” Kuanlin guffaws. “It’s _way_ past 8:30, buddy.”

“Nonsense,” Jihoon frowns, stealing a furtive glance at the clock.

_9:15 P.M., it reads._

“Oh,” he utters. “You’re right.”

“Have dinner, at least,” Kuanlin urges. “You’ve been ignoring your phone for the past couple hours now, and _that_ worries me. You can’t even go a minute without checking if that Jeju Parrot hasn’t yet spammed your inbox.”

“ _Busan Sparrow,”_ Jihoon corrects. “And no, I’m not checking. Nope. Not at all.”

The truth is, Jihoon hasn’t so much as glanced his phone’s way since they left for home, out of fear that Busan Sparrow is disappointed in him for bailing out on their very first meeting.

At this point, however, disappointment is synonymous to the inevitable, and Park Jihoon is synonymous to _that lame-ass coward who doesn’t deserve even a lick of Busan Sparrow’s attention._

And yet, the force of habit has him swiping at his phone screen in no time.

“No replies, huh…” he mutters.

“Waiting on your Prince Charming, again?” Kuanlin inquires, smug.

“That’s…” Jihoon begins. “Wait...you know he’s a _prince?”_

“I may be inexperienced,” Kuanlin replies. “But everyone, literally _everyone,_ their mothers, fathers, siblings and ancestors can tell that you have _zero_ interest in women.”

Jihoon chucks an origami crane at him. “Good to know.”

Kuanlin captures the crane mid-flight, making a spectacle of his superior reflexes.

“Aren’t you replying to his letter, then? Or was God supposed to whisper the answer to that in your ear?”

“I did reply,” Jihoon retorts, scrolling through the contents of his inbox.

And then he notices the out-of-place, sitting in the Outbox he cleans out religiously.

“Shit,” he curses. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, _sHIT_.”

“He didn’t get the reply, did he?” Kuanlin ventures a guess. “The Internet _can_ get unstable, if you’re filming in the middle of… well, _nowhere,_ really.”

“Then he _doesn’t_ know,” Jihoon panics. “He doesn’t know I’ve refused to meet him.”

“Alright, _that’s_ a problem.” Kuanlin frowns.

“What do I do, Kuanlin-ah?” Jihoon cries out, flying abruptly into hysterics. “Oh god, what if he’s _still there,_ waiting for me?  More than two hours have passed since... _oh god_. He wouldn't just... wait for me, without even knowing if I'll ever make it... will he? He could've contacted me, asked for my location... HE HASN'T DIED OUT THERE ALREADY, HAS HE?”

He stares out the window, fat droplets of rain pitter-pattering against the translucent panes.

“It’s raining, Jihoon-ah,” Kuanlin reminds him. “You can’t just go out there, and–”

Kuanlin interjects far too late.

Jihoon is already out the door, and nowhere in sight.

“Ah,” Kuanlin says, clucking a tongue in blithe disapproval. “He never listens. _Never_ ”

 

***

 

The Spring Sky Garden is devoid of patrons.

Save for Park Woojin, that is.

Who, as it happens, didn’t think far enough ahead for him to have carried along an umbrella.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jihoon demands, jogging towards him. His umbrella lurches in the wind, pelted by globules of rain.  “What are you doing out here? You’re soaking wet!”

“Oh,” Woojin says, shivering perceptibly in the biting cold. “It’s you.”

“Yeah. It’s me,” Jihoon agrees.

_It’s me. Am I the one you’ve been waiting for?_

He takes Woojin in underneath his umbrella, yanking him by the arm towards the shade.

“I’m waiting,” Woojin discloses. “For...someone.”

“Out _here,_ in the pouring rain? Director Hwang will have your head on a _pike_ if you get sick in this weather. Do you even know that? Do you even care?”

Woojin offers no more than the slightest shake of his head, rivulets of moisture streaming down the sides of his face, onto his once-pristine clothing.

“If I retreat into the building,” Woojin says, wresting himself from Jihoon’s grip. “She may not see me, once she arrives. And I may not notice she’s even made it. I rented the entire place out, you know. It’s locked. Made to look as if it’s empty.”

“Idiot,” Jihoon says. “Your health is of utmost importance here. All else is but an afterthought.”

Once they’re back inside, Jihoon relieves himself of the backpack he carried with him, rummaging impatiently through its contents.

“Here,” he says, turning over a shirt and towel. “These are for you.”

“You… brought these for me?” Woojin inquires, taking the supplies anyway. “How come you know where I’ve been? Are you a _stalker?_ ”

“You’re welcome,” Jihoon grumbles. “I’m a friend. And friends _worry.”_

He retrieves another towel, patting Woojin’s face dry.

Woojin observes his every motion, unmoving.

Frenetic energy dances through Jihoon, like wildfire in his veins, and he wonders if undoing Woojin’s polo-shirt himself is taking things a tad too far.

He does it, anyway.

“This is clinging to your torso,” he says, as if it doesn’t bother him that Woojin’s shirt has gone effectively see-through. “Take it off.”

“You’re in a hurry,” Woojin simpers.

“Who is it?” Jihoon ignores him.

“Who is _what_?”

“The person you’re willing to embrace the angry skies for.”

“Ah,” Woojin says, turning away from him. “I… I have no idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never met them.”

“You’re waiting for a stranger?”

“She _isn’t_ a stranger.”

“Then who is she?”

A pause.

“My princess.”

Another pause.

“Are you... _sure_ about a princess?”

Woojin’s glare bores through him, as if to penetrate through the façade he’s kept barely intact.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Jihoon is well-aware of the fact that all his efforts over the years boil down to this very moment.

One way or another, he’s about to waste three years’ worth of anguish, of denial, of fear over the aftermath of honesty, over the repercussions of his speaking the truth, of making it known to the world that once upon a time, he fell in love.

And only now is he brave enough to admit that there was never, _ever_ anything wrong with that.

Societal norms be damned.

“I’m not a princess, my dearest Sparrow,” he whispers. “Your Park Tokki was not a _girl_ , to begin with.”

In that moment, both instantaneous and eternal, it’s as if the hands of time have ground to a halt, and nothing else matters in this world save for the _now_ they share between them.

That one moment of truth, and vulnerability.

The moment before it all comes crashing down, a jarring deluge, the memory of exchange between Busan Sparrow, and Park Tokki.

The lies, the deceit, and everything else in between.

The puzzle clicking into place, piece after piece.

“J-Jihoon-ah…” Woojin says with a start.

“I’m a nobody,” Jihoon presses on, filling the void of disillusion between them. “I have neither a future nor the promise of forever to give you.”

He takes a small step forward.

And then two.

Until they’re standing, eye-to-eye, and face-to-face, mirrors to the soul once at rest within each other, stirred by an awakening to the truth.

“I have none of the things Park Tokki once promised he’d give you,” Jihoon whispers. “But I love you just the same.”

_I wasn’t ready for this encounter. Far from it._

_But it’s now, or never._

_And I’ll take now any time of the day._

He leans into Woojin’s space, pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “And I’m sorry if that’s never been enough.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what he’s come to expect of Woojin’s reaction.

All he knows is that whatever it may have been… it was _nothing_ like this.

Woojin pulls him into a passionate embrace, and this time around, when the voice inside of him says, _you’re home,_ Jihoon no longer stands firm in opposition.

Both hands circle Woojin’s waist, at peace in the warmth he's found in Woojin's arms.

“Idiot,” Woojin whispers.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “I know.”

“It was you,” Woojin says, burying his face in the crook of Jihoon’s neck. “All this time... I’ve troubled myself over _nothing_. In staying, or leaving, none of that mattered. The answer would always have been _you_.”

“I know I’m not what you’ve been expecting,” Jihoon tells him. “Are you… disappointed?”

“Are you kidding me?” Woojin chuckles. “I could _kiss_ you right now.”

He pulls away for a moment to look into Jihoon’s eyes, and Jihoon wonders if he sees his reflection within them, if he knows how utterly beautiful he looks tonight, drenched in rain under the cast of moonlight.

“I could kiss you, too,” Jihoon smiles. “And maybe I will.”

He leans in, pressing the lightest of kisses onto Woojin’s feverish lips.

Woojin's hands tremble in the cold, clinging onto his for warmth.

“Do you… not care that I’m a boy?” Jihoon asks then.

“Why should I?” Woojin smiles, pressing both of their foreheads together. “I fell in love, _sincerely,_ without caring about who you were, what you looked liked, and whether or not the rest of the world would accept that we'd come to love each other, against all the odds. It’s me, and you, against the universe, Park Jihoon. I know you meant it, when you said that. Now I do, too.”

“Good,” Jihoon nods, happiness welling up within him. “Because if you reject me a second time, I’m kicking you _so_  damnhard, your balls will shrivel right up and die inside of you.”

A nervous laugh escapes Park Woojin. “Then we’re both in luck.”

He presses a kiss onto Jihoon’s forehead, warmth searing through him.

“Do you have any idea,” he says. “Why I fell in love with Park Tokki in the first place?”

“No,” Jihoon says. “I don’t think so.”

“Before I met him,” Woojin begins. “Or her, or whoever it was that I’d thought Park Tokki might’ve been… I fell in love with his stories first. The day _Nothing Without You_ ’s pilot episode aired on television, was the day I became his number one fan. I skipped a bunch of classes that semester, in order to to arrive home early enough to watch  _Nothing Without You_  on air. My grades sank, at the time. But really… I had no regrets. After the drama concluded, I made a firm decision to pursue a career in acting.”

He takes Jihoon by the hand, planting another kiss onto the back of his palm.

“And only now have I come to realize why exactly it is that Park Tokki’s stories spoke to me.”

“And why is that?” Jihoon smiles.

“Because they reminded me,” Woojin whispers. “Of _our_ story, Jihoon-ah. Of our childhood. The dreams we shared. The memories you and I kept safe between us. They reminded me of the glory days I’ve always yearned to return to. Of you and I, together in _everything._  And now I know why.”

Jihoon fights with all his might, to keep the tears at bay.

“And I thought, one day,” Woojin continues. “If I _do_ get cast to play a role in a drama Park Tokki wrote himself… maybe I'll get to relive all our yesterdays, too. And when you disappeared from my life like a leaf lost to the wind, I thought, if this is the only way there is for me to keep the barest shred of our friendship alive, I’ll take it. Any chance I can get.

But I was afraid. Because at a _much_ younger age, Park Woojin was more... impressionable, to say the least. At the time, I gobbled up the lies I’d been fed. I could never think for myself, not the way I do now. And neither could I imagine falling in love with you, because to me, you were a _brother_. It felt _wrong,_ so I shied away from my own feelings. I stowed them away in a bottle within myself, sealed it airtight shut, and tried my hardest to throw my feelings away, into the depths of obscurity, to forget they’d ever existed. So when you confessed to have felt the same way as I did… I was horrified.

Because if we were to leap into that chasm, that void unknown… I knew for a fact that people would mock us. Call us _freaks_. Because we didn’t live in an accepting environment, and as bitter a pill as it was to swallow, it was the truth. And thus, I did the only thing I could think of to protect you.”

“You rejected me,” Jihoon whispers. “You _lied._ ”

“It was true,” Woojin agrees. “That I’d fallen in love. But there was never anyone else for me to fall in love with. And even when I thought I’d found love again, after sending letters back and forth with Park Tokki… it turns out that all this time, that was _still_ you _._ As if your fate is tied to mine.

There has never been another girl,” Woojin admits, finally. “And I'm sorry to have made it seem otherwise. But in fiction, in fairytales, in life as we know it... you have always been my prince, and I, yours. And I’m no longer afraid to admit that.”

A single tear cascades down Jihoon’s cheek, and Woojin moves to wipe it gently away with the pad of his thumb.

“You have no idea,” Jihoon whispers. “How fiercely I’d come to hate you.”

“And you have no idea,” Woojin replies. “How much I didn’t care. Because _I love you._ ”

His mouth slants against Jihoon’s own, kissing him full upon his eager lips.

And for a moment it feels as though Jihoon has everything.

Even though in reality, it’s just a boy, and another boy.

And their twin hearts beating as one.

"I guess we've always... been there for each other, huh?" Woojin muses. "Without even knowing it. Love does move in mysterious ways."

Jihoon smiles at him, grinning from ear to ear. 

_Yeah. Our love was nothing short of a miracle._

“Wait a minute,” he says then, interrupting their small moment. “Busan Sparrow... he claimed to have been a lawyer in Gangnam. Did that occupation not work out for you?”

“I made that up to keep Busan Sparrow’s identity under wraps,” Woojin laughs. “Though at the time, I _was_ playing the role of an estranged prosecutor. I think I’ve come close enough.”

“I can forgive that," Jihoon sighs. "Greater lies have been told, after all. But I don’t happen to like the idea of you having to kiss my _sister_. Whenever we make out… it’s like I’m kissing _her,_ indirectly. Ugh… _incest_.”

“I’ll gargle with peppermint mouthwash before every kiss then,” Woojin chuckles.

“Don’t,” Jihoon retorts cheekily. “I prefer vanilla.”

Woojin smiles at him, and it’s a smile much, much brighter than Jihoon’s fragile, little heart can take. “Your wish is my command, then. Although… since you _did_ write this drama into existence, you could always just… veer away from the initial directive, and have Ryujin fall in love with Seojun instead.”

Jihoon grimaces, unsold. “You want our ratings to _plummet_?”

“Fine then,” Woojin shrugs. “Just… put up with it, a bit more. One day, we’ll be able to tell the whole world we’re together.”

“A secret love affair?” Jihoon giggles. “Sounds like the makings of a melodrama to me.”

“Oh? So this is how Park Tokki finds his inspiration. We should make out a bit more often, then.”

“No thank you,” Jihoon frowns, sticking out his tongue. “My dramas are PG-13.”

“Oh. How boring.”

“If you’re up for it, though,” Jihoon snickers, alight with mischief. “We can always leave the R-18 stuff for when both of us are off-camera.”

“Mmm,” Woojin whispers, and for a moment, Jihoon is sure they have a long night ahead of them. “Now that’s more like it.”

 

***

 

The very next day, Jihoon wakes up to a torrent of kisses.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm,” he groans half-asleep, rolling lazily over in bed. “Is that... a nickname?”

“Why? You prefer _my wittle bunnykins?_ ”

“ _God, no,”_ Jihoon frowns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I don’t need a nickname. Greet me some other way.”

“Right,” Woojin grins. “I can think of… a few _exciting_ ways.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” Jihoon sits himself up, his back aching tremendously.

“Ugh,” he mutters. “That sucks.”

“What’s up with you?” Woojin inquires. “You alright?”

“My nether regions ache,” Jihoon grumbles. “This is _all_ your fault.”

“Didn’t think you’d complain. Wasn’t that you, from last night?”

“Wasn’t _what_ me, from last night?”

Woojin smiles, then launches himself into a sensationalized narrative of their bedroom exploits.

_“Ah Woojin-ah, that feels good, ahhh—_ _”_

“STOP,” Jihoon demands, horrified.

 _“Please don’t stop, I want more... aaahhh~ More Woojin-ahhh_ _♥_ _”_

“FUCKING STOP ALREADY.”

“And as obedient a boyfriend as I am, I simply obliged, and—”

“Shut it,” Jihoon pleads. “Wait… _boyfriend?”_

He blinks, blushing from tip to toe.

“Did I not get the memo?” Woojin asks, cocking his head to the side.

“No, I just…” Jihoon muses, smiling without meaning to. “I kinda like the sound of that.”

“Yeah,” Woojin nods. “I do, too.”

Jihoon waddles over to the door, embarrassed by the fact that he’d let Woojin ravage him to the point of physical pain.

“Where are you going?” Woojin inquires.

“The kitchen.”

“What? Why? _No_.”

“I’m making breakfast.”

“Oh no no no no _no,_ I can’t let you do that.”

“Relax,” Jihoon says. “It’s just an egg. _Anyone_ can fry an egg.”

“That may be true,” Woojin argues. “But some of them _can’t_ fry an egg without frying the pan, the kitchen, and the upper half of his shirt in the process. Just stay put, I’ll do the cooking in this household.”

He gets up himself, making haste for the door.

“Maybe having a boyfriend _is_ a little convenient,” Jihoon smiles. “I could get used to this.”

“You should. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Romantic,” Jihoon approves. “I’ll add that into the script.”

“You wait here,” Woojin says, the trill of his laughter a wondrous melody. “I’ll be right back.”

After Woojin departs for the kitchen, Jihoon strolls over to the windows of his bedroom instead. He pushes the curtains languidly aside, making way for the light of the mid-morning sun to seep in through the glass, accompanied by a strangely comforting breeze. A rainbow is alight in the far-off horizon, a rogue maple leaf swaying to and fro, making its descent towards a bed of daisies in full-bloom under the golden glow of the brilliant autumnal sun.

Autumn has arrived, and with it, the promise of tomorrow.

Moments later, a small bird takes flight towards a nearby tree, making its way back to the nest it left temporarily behind.

Everything in the world is as it should be, and Jihoon can’t help but think that another adventure lies in store, just ahead of him.

Of both of them.

Another day, another dream to chase after. 

And this time around, Busan Sparrow and Park Tokki, Park Woojin and Park Jihoon, are going through the motions hand-in-hand, and never letting go. 

Against all odds, they'll make it together. As lovers, and equals, the very best of friends.

“Guess it’s time for me to sit down and write that new chapter,” Jihoon muses. “Hmm. I wonder what happens next.”

He retreats into the bedroom, turning his back on the crisp warmth of morning. Outside his window is the sweet chorus of birdsong, the daisy buds blooming tentatively, yet courageously in the sunlight, a constant reminder that everything—in due course—finds its next beginning.

 

~PART TWO END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both my entry to 2Park Week, and my humble gift for Woojin's birthday. I had so much fun writing this, and am so very thankful to my 2 Park shipper friends for welcoming me into this wonderful family <3 
> 
> To all my readers: thank you for taking the time out of your (presumably) busy schedules to give this story a little love. I'm quite proud of it... so I hope you like how the story's turned out <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for reading my entry for 2Park Week Day 3. I'm actually surprised by how much this fits the theme LOL
> 
> As aforementioned, I know I'm not the best at ending stories I've started, but I really am trying my best. I don't have a lot of free time, but as the 2 Park Week moderators are very close friends of mine, I really want to support them on their efforts. So here's my entry! I hope you guys like, see you in Part 2 :D
> 
> P.S. Thanks to Nish, Jess-unnie, and Ang-unnie for making #2parkweek happen <3


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